


Ferdibert Spicy Shorts

by Bohemienne



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:54:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22215901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bohemienne/pseuds/Bohemienne
Summary: Assorted E-ratedFerdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestraminifics. No additional relationship tags will be added, but additional content tags will be included in the notes at the beginning of each chapter.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 11
Kudos: 183





	1. Maidbert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ferdinand appreciating Maidbert.
> 
>  **Additional tags:** Lingerie kink, assplay, anal fingering, anal sex, gagging, felching, top!Ferdinand, bottom!Hubert

“Well! Is this not quite the look, Minister Vestra.” Ferdinand pushes his chair back from his desk and crosses one ankle to his knee, leaning back to admire the view. “Or is it Maid Vestra, now?”

“Oh, do shut up.” Hubert gives a shake to the ruffled skirt of his maid’s disguise: the frilly lavender dress and starched white pinafore, complete with silky white stockings, black buckled shoes, and white lacy headband held atop his hair with pins. “I needed something to help me blend in.”

“I hate to dissuade you, but you are easily a head taller than all the other palace maids.” Ferdinand clasps his gloved hands before him. “And what a lovely figure you cut. If it were me, I could not keep my eyes off you. Which, I am sure, defeats the purpose.”

That shakes loose the deep scowl on Hubert’s face, much to Ferdinand’s delight. Hubert takes a step toward him, skirts swaying. “Is that so, Prime Minister?”

Ferdinand’s leg drops down, and he lurches forward, peeling off one glove and seizing the back of one silky thigh with his bare hand. “Indeed. I do not condone harassing the help, and I will strike down any who do so. But this maid . . .” His fingers brush along the back of Hubert’s knee, and Hubert wobbles, stifling a faint whimper. “This maid would certainly possess my thoughts.”

Hubert snorts; he lifts his leg, shiny black shoe propping on the edge of Ferdinand’s chair between his thighs, and Ferdinand takes the opportunity to caress his calf with both hands now, his mouth joining him in appreciation. Rounding on silk-covered skin, leaving a wet trail on the fine fabric as he roves upward.

“I’m not going to clean up your mess, Prime Minister.” Hubert seizes a handful of Ferdinand’s hair, that wicked smirk on his face that drives Ferdinand mad—whether with anger or lust, or often both. “So do try to be careful.”

“Oh, I have not begun to make a mess of you yet.”

Hubert sucks in his breath as Ferdinand’s mouth skims past the edge of his stockings, and he catches a garter in his teeth with a hasty tug. Ferdinand digs through the many layers of white underskirts and shoves them up toward Hubert’s hips to get a better look at him: white stockings and a lacy garter belt, but, _oh_ , his favorite component has to be those delicate silk panties, the cheap material impossibly thin, and scarcely up to the task of containing Hubert’s growing erection. As it is, the dripping head of his cock is pushing past the elastic waistband that’s dotted with tiny ribbon bows.

“Oh, Hubert.” Ferdinand licks a stripe up the side of Hubert’s shaft, over the thin fabric, and Hubert shudders and tightens his hold on Ferdinand’s hair. “I cannot imagine what purpose _these_ might have to serve in your little subterfuge.”

“Perhaps I just liked the—ah!—the feel of them.” Hubert shudders as Ferdinand’s mouth closes on the base of his cock, only the cheap panties between them. “Or maybe they were intended for an audience of one.”

Ferdinand flattens his tongue and drags it up and down against the outline of Hubert’s shaft, until Hubert chokes on a sob, knees starting to buckle. “I do hope you mean me,” he murmurs against Hubert’s skin. “Or I might have to assassinate this target of yours myself.”

“Of course I do, you absurd—”

He cuts Hubert off by spinning him around, so the gentle curve of Hubert’s ass is on display before him instead, artfully framed by the panty line. “Well, if they’re only intended for me . . .” Ferdinand bites at the swell of his ass where it meets thigh, and Hubert yelps. “Then I suppose I can do whatever I like with them, yes?”

“I—” Hubert cries out as Ferdinand shoves the panties aside, and tugs apart the two lovely halves of Hubert’s ass. His hole is still reddened from the night before, Ferdinand notes. With a wry laugh, he pushes a wet kiss against it, tongue teasing at the band of muscle. “Ferdie, fuck—”

Ferdinand gathers up the fabric of the panties in his fist, and it doesn’t take much effort to wrench them off completely, with a satisfying _rrrip_ of cheap material and snapping elastic. Even more satisfying, though, is Hubert’s snarl in response. “Dammit, Ferdinand!”

“Oh, hush, you.” Then, with a wicked grin, Ferdinand reaches up to shove the cheap panties into Hubert’s mouth. Hubert seethes furiously at him through the mouthful of fabric, but, good boy that he is, doesn’t spit them out; and anyway, his curses quickly turn to muffled moans as Ferdinand pulls a vial of oil from his desk drawer and works two fingers into Hubert’s hole.

“There we are. I just wish you to be on your best behavior, is all.” He twists his fingers, curling them at the same time, and relishes Hubert’s answering mewl. “We are both working, after all.”

He unfastens his own breeches, then hoists Hubert forward, shoving him face-down on his messy desk as he slicks himself with a hasty stroke of oil. “You will clean up after us, won’t you, darling?”

Hubert mutters what can only be more careful swears in response, but judging by the way they quickly turn into desperate cries as Ferdinand pushes inside of him, Ferdinand thinks he’ll be forgiven. He grabs a handful of Hubert’s dark, wavy locks and slowly begins to thrust.

And, goddess, how he’ll never tire of the fierce clench of Hubert’s hole, particular when Hubert is feeling irate. He’ll never tire of running his hands over that precious curve of his ass. But the confection of the maid skirts spilling around him is a new and excellent treat, one Ferdinand intends to savor, again and again. He slaps Hubert’s ass and holds firm, earning him a startled grunt, and the sound of terribly important papers crinkling as Hubert grabs purchase on the prime minister’s desk.

“You will keep this disguise after your assignment is over, won’t you?” Ferdinand asks, picking up his pace. Tears are leaking from Hubert’s eyes now, further fueling the intense heat low in Ferdinand’s gut. “I think it will require far more soiling than I can give you right now.”

Hubert nods; spits out the wadded panties. “Ferdie, please—”

“You will come from my cock, won’t you, my beautiful?” He slams his hips home and holds them, gritting his teeth to fight back his own climax. “You’ll be my good little whore?”

“Yes, just—don’t stop—”

Hubert’s words erode into an angry growl as he clenches hard around Ferdinand’s cock, thighs squeezing, cock probably spilling over some minor noble’s whiny petition. And Ferdinand quickly follows him—he grips Hubert’s hair for all he can as he gives a stuttering cry and locks his hips. Everything goes blurry as he savors the blissful nothingness, the sight of Hubert stretched before him, the heat surrounding him, then, coming back to himself, gently eases himself out of a still panting, quivering Hubert.

“Now _that_ is more like it.” Ferdinand raises one eyebrow at the sight of his own seed dripping down Hubert’s thigh, seeping into his stockings. “We can’t have you cleaning the palace like this, now, can we?”

Hubert whimpers as Ferdinand licks up his own cum, sucking on Hubert’s thigh as he goes. Then, wrenching Hubert up by his hair, he pulls him into a sloppy, smearing kiss.

And as ever, Ferdinand’s heart lurches when Hubert returns it, drinking in Ferdinand, his spend, sucking on his tongue, nibbling at his lower lip, and this time, it’s Ferdinand’s knees that give way as Hubert breaks the kiss with a dark laugh, that wicked sound Ferdinand will never tire of.

“Tragically,” Hubert says, “I do still have a mission to carry out.”

“As long as you are quick about it.” Ferdinand tugs at one of the filly straps of his pinafore. “Oh. I suppose you might need these.” With a grin, he shoves the wet, crumpled panties into Hubert’s hand.

Hubert snorts, shaking his head—and then reaches down to wipe himself off before he hands them back to Ferdinand. “You hold onto them, darling. For later.”

As he slips, walking stiffly, out of Ferdinand’s office, Ferdinand takes a deep inhale of the panties, and thinks he’ll do just that.


	2. Preskip Hatesex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Academy-era hatesex. While this is before the timeskip, all characters depicted are of age (Ferdinand is 18 and Hubert is 20).
> 
>  **Additional tags:** hatesex, anal fingering, D/s dynamics, humiliation kink, subbert, Dom!Ferdinand, sub!Hubert, semi-public sex

“Go on,” Ferdinand hisses, with another thrust of his fingers. “Tell me again how deplorable you find me.”

And how did they find themselves here again—the alcove Ferdinand is too readily thinking of as  _ their _ alcove, the Hubert he is too frequently thinking of as  _ his _ Hubert, their arguments about anything and everything like rope bound to fray. Sometimes, it’s mouths crashing hard as fists into each other, or it’s lips pulling at cocks as if they’re trying to wrench them right off. But now, it’s Hubert pinned, face-first, against the wall, snarling and snapping like the rabid dog he is, and yet still he rocks back against Ferdinand’s fingers, whining and rutting with what Ferdinand didn’t even know he wanted.

Hubert von Vestra—his execrable rival—stretched open and exposed to him. And somehow, Hubert is letting him.

“Where are your cruel words now? Have I finally found the secret to sh-shutting you up?” 

“Don’t flatter yourself so—”

Ferdinand cuts him off by curling his fingers, scraping and dragging them inside Hubert—and the cry Hubert lets out is so pathetic, so stark that he can hardly believe it’s Hubert who made it. He has to bite down on his lip to stave off his own sudden flood of heat, building and building low in his belly.

“Quiet, dog.” In an inspired pique, he stuffs the white glove he’d removed from his left hand into Hubert’s mouth. “We do not want your precious lady to hear you. Or anyone else to see what a f-filthy slut you are.”

Hubert’s next cry is muffled, but the vicious glare he cuts at Ferdinand says plenty. Smirking, Ferdinand jabs his fingers harder, and the glove is crushed between bared teeth. Oh, and this is better, so much better than all the nights Ferdinand’s spent imagining scenarios like this as he’s smothered his frustration in his dorm room pillow. It’s better than unleashing all the retorts he thought of, much too late to use them, all at once.

“Go on, von Vestra.” He digs his fingers deeper, curling, striving—“Try and tell me you hate me now—”

Hubert shrieks into the glove, body going rigid, hips bucking forward against the wall as he clenches hard on Ferdinand’s hand. And, goddess help him, all Ferdinand wants is to kiss him through it, kiss those squeezed-shut eyes and sneering lips and tensed shoulders. He wants to drop to his knees and lick away every last pearly drop pulsing and pooling on Hubert’s trousers where they’re shoved down around his thighs.

But that isn’t their game. It’s safer for them both this way.

So as Hubert slumps against the wall, Ferdinand stops himself from caressing his sweaty, flushed face. Instead, he only yanks his glove from Hubert’s mouth and flings it at him.

“You’d better clean yourself up before our seminar.”

“Fuck you, von Aegir,” Hubert says.

Ferdinand hesitates, feet refusing to obey him for a second.

But then he’s all but running back to the dormitory, locking his door, dreaming of how those venomous lips taste once more.


	3. Sunbathing Ferdinand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill for [@Fe3hsins](http://twitter.com/Fe3hsins) based on their excellent [sunbathing Ferdie](https://twitter.com/Fe3hSins/status/1212564083364573189) artwork!
> 
>  **Additional tags:** exhibitionism

“Hubert,” Ferdinand admonishes, “what on _earth_ are you wearing?”

Hubert shuffles forward from the relative shade of the gazebo, clutching the handle of his parasol tight as the sand of the Aegirs’ private stretch of beach squishes between his toes. Then very nearly drops it at the sight of everything that Ferdinand _isn’t_ wearing. He’s stretched out on his stomach on a slatted wooden chair like a decadent feast, his freckled skin the radiant color of a perfectly baked pastry, and there is so very _much_ of it on display that Hubert hardly knows where to look.

What he is decidedly not looking at is Ferdinand’s sumptuous ass, ripened from countless hours drilling with his lance and countless more steadying himself in the saddle of his warhorse—aided, naturally, by those densely muscled thighs that look more than up to the task of riding long and hard themselves—oh, flames, he is decidedly not looking at those either, because if he did, he would not be able to resist thinking about them clamping around his waist—

“Come here,” Ferdinand insists, starting to push himself up to sitting. Gold-red hair ripples like fire in the relentless sun as it falls around his shoulders to frame the frankly unreasonable musculature of his chest and oh fuck why did Hubert have to think about lances now that his gaze is roaming down—

“Prime Minister,” Hubert stammers, squeezing the parasol’s wooden handle. And now thinking about things he’d rather squeeze. Fuck. “Is it really necessary to—display yourself in such a manner?”

“Display?” Ferdinand stretches out one leg and hooks it around the back of Hubert’s calf to yank him closer. “I do not see anyone else here.”

“There’s the . . .” Hubert stares past him as Ferdinand eases the parasol from his hands and tosses it aside. “Seagulls.”

Ferdinand snorts and trails his fingers along the row of buttons down the chest of Hubert’s bathing suit. “Come, now. We have the entire beach to ourselves. Nothing to do the next few days but relax and tour the lands.” He tilts his head, teeth fussing at his plump lower lip. “The war is ended, and I believe you and I deserve to indulge ourselves.” He teases at the first button; nudges it apart when Hubert manages a nod. “You wish to as well, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Hubert breathes. The suit falls from his shoulders with the last of his resolve. He steps out of it as he climbs onto the chair, legs framing those powerful thighs, and buries his fingers in silky hair. His shadow falls over Ferdinand, but does nothing to diminish his golden glow. “This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?”

Ferdinand grabs him by the neck and drags him down until their mouths collide. And damned if he doesn’t taste just as golden and bright as he looks, melting butter-soft against Hubert’s tongue. Ferdinand’s hips rock up toward his, and Hubert whimpers—catches Ferdinand’s lip with his teeth to stop the overwhelming rush of sensation from burning him up completely.

Ferdinand beams at him; reaches between them to feather his fingers against Hubert’s cock. “Nonsense. I merely thought you could stand to get some sun.”

As he surrenders into Ferdinand’s dizzying touch, he can hardly disagree.


	4. Touch-Starved Hubert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Touch-starved Hubert prompt fill.
> 
>  **Additional tags:** child abuse (implied), touch-starved Hubert, Gentle Dom Ferdinand, body worship

“Is this all right?”

Ferdinand trails the faintest whisper of a fingertip along the line of Hubert’s collarbone. It stings like poison; it burns like frost. It’s far too much and at the same time, it’s everything he wants.

Hubert nods, fingers twisting into the bedsheets. He can feel the heat of Ferdinand’s body seated behind him, just out of reach. But the heat itself is taunting. Like the hesitation just before their lips met the first time, or the press of a blade just before it pierces skin. “You can move—closer if you like,” he says, and the hum of his blood fills his ears.

Ferdinand’s thighs slot around his hips as he scoots around him, and though Hubert can’t see it, just _knowing_ the that sculpted, freckled chest is what’s cradling his shoulder blades now sends a shiver through him. “Like this?”

The words might as well be kisses, feathering against his ear, running through his hair, gusting down his neck. Hubert bites his lower lip. “Y-yes.” As he relaxes his death grip on the sheets, his elbows come to rest on the insides of Ferdinand’s knees. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I don’t mean for it to be so difficult to—to be with me.”

“You are difficult in many ways, Hubert.” A second hand joins the first on Hubert’s chest, fingers flat against him now. Stroking against him. “This is not one of them.”

He tries to laugh at that, but he’s too lost in the heat of Ferdinand’s touch. The gentleness of it, yet his resilience—as if he won’t let Hubert shatter, no matter how much Hubert thinks he might. Has he ever been touched this way, with tenderness, with any thought for his comfort, his want? He knows the scars and burns and corrupted magic marring his skin say otherwise. Flames know he’s never used his hands in such a way before. He is a dagger, sharpened on a life of violence and pain for the purpose of inflicting more of the same.

Carefully, like stitching up a wound, he stretches out his fingers so they curl at the firm angles of Ferdinand’s calves.

Ferdinand hums pleasantly in his ear. His nose is against Hubert’s neck, now, and his lips on the tendons of his shoulder. “I love the feel of you.” He paints one hand down Hubert’s abdomen, and Hubert trembles—the sensation like a spark catching. “As if you are thawing for me. Melting, even.”

And isn’t that just how it feels? That he is no longer cold steel, but clay, molding into Ferdinand’s embrace. Never a thing he thought he might want—but now that he has it, he wants to hold tight. Let himself be reshaped.

Ferdinand tickles at the thin trail of dark hair leading down Hubert’s stomach beneath his belly button; his fingertips bump against the band of Hubert’s underwear. Hubert sucks in his breath; that spark is now a flare, and his vision swirls. “Tell me if I should stop,” Ferdinand says.

As Ferdinand’s hand drops lower, to the seam of his stomach and thigh, Hubert doesn’t bother to stifle his cry. “Please don’t.”


	5. Romantic Fingering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was supposed to be for Strap Saturday but they were having too much fun with romantic fingerbanging, sorry
> 
>  **Additional tags:** vaginal fingering, trans Ferdinand

—And Hubert will never tire of his husband’s arms wrapped around his shoulders, face buried in the crook of his neck, shaking with soft cries that come from deep in his chest as Hubert’s fingers thrust deep inside him like he’s drawing out each beautiful note—

“Sunshine?” Hubert murmurs against Ferdinand’s ear, a thin curtain of wavy orange hair sticking to both their cheeks with sweat. “Is this—all right? We haven’t even used your toy . . .”

“Don’t stop.” Ferdinand’s thighs part wider as he wraps himself tighter around Hubert. “I just want—you.”

And Hubert will be damned if _that_ ever fails to convince him. His thumb grazes against Ferdinand’s swollen cock, teasing it from the hood, and Ferdinand stifles another sob against Hubert’s skin. Flames, how Hubert wishes he could collect those sobs somewhere, store them up and warm his heart with them in the dark of a mission sometimes, but he’ll just have to remember—he always wants to remember this.

Ferdinand’s hips shake, powerful thighs gripping, and Hubert’s own untouched cock throbs with want—but more than anything, he wants to feel his husband throbbing around him. He pumps his index and middle finger harder into Ferdinand as his thumbnail scrapes the length of his head, kisses the mass of curls at his cheek, moans against the shell of his ear—

And then Ferdinand sobs, thighs locking tight around him, his hole _pulsing_ , hot and slick, gripping Hubert’s fingers. Possessive. Hubert feels possessed, he feels wanted, he feels loved—and all he wants is to give, and give, and give to this incredible man in his arms, and he may not have the words for it, but he hopes, as he murmurs “ _That’s it_ ” and “ _Good boy_ ” in Ferdinand’s ear, that maybe it’s a start.

Ferdinand’s head curls under Hubert’s chin, and Hubert shifts his fingers within him, not wanting to pain him too much—

“More?” Hubert asks, shyly.

Ferdinand smiles against the hollow of his throat. “More.”


	6. Bottombert Strap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bottombert takes the strap for the first time on Bottombert Monday.
> 
>  **Tags:** strap-ons, anal sex, anal penetration, first time, trans ferdinand, top!ferdinand, bottom!hubert

Ferdinand gazes down at his Hubert spread before him, hips lifted, slender spine sloped downward, face pressed into the pillow—and he pushes in.  
  
“Oh,” Hubert cries, a little startled, a little pained. Ferdinand stops and bites down hard on his lip. The nub on the interior of the harness is stroking against his own swollen erection, and his thighs are sticky—but he stops, the head of the dildo just barely lodged within Hubert, and runs his hands reassuringly over Hubert’s hips.  
  
“Is this all right?” Ferdinand asks, and wishes his voice didn’t sound so tiny. He wants to lean forward and kiss that jagged ridge of Hubert’s back, wrap his arms around his chest, but he doesn’t want to push in deeper if it’s hurting him.  
  
“It’s—a lot.” There’s a catch in Hubert’s voice. “But I want it.” He twists his head just enough to look back at Ferdinand with glassy eyes. “I want to be filled by you.”  
  
Ferdinand smiles past the lump forming in his throat, and rocks his hips.  
  
They both cry out, Hubert’s a dark snarl as Ferdinand sinks into him fully, and Ferdinand’s a sharper wail at the rub and press against his clit. Hubert’s hands flex and grab at the sheets as his cock swings, heavy. And he’s beautiful, so beautiful beneath him, _around_ him, sharp, pale limbs and dark hair and so open and trusting and _his_ , in a way that’s only Ferdinand’s to ever see.  
  
And Ferdinand can’t help but reach out and lace his fingers through that grasping hand as his orange locks cascade around them both. “Shall I—move?”  
  
“In a minute,” Hubert whispers. A tear slips from his pale eye, and Ferdinand kisses his shoulder blade, since he can’t lean forward enough to kiss the tear away. “Just—hold me?”  
  
Throat too thick to speak, Ferdinand brings his other hand to Hubert’s chest, and turns his head to hear him breathe, to feel the steady beating of his Hubert’s heart.


	7. Cockwarmer Subbert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Additional tags:** D/s dynamics, Gentle Dom Ferdinand, service Dom Ferdinand, submissive Hubert, subbert, pet play, cockwarming, subspace

Ferdinand always knows when his husband’s been wound a little tight; when that clever, cunning mind of his has been spinning too furiously, and nothing but utter exhaustion and collapse will stop it unless he intervenes. Those are the times when he must clutch scarred, magic-eaten hands between his own to stop their shaking. When he must kiss them into stillness. When he must whisper into Hubert’s ear a promise to soothe him, but disguise it as orders, because above all else his husband yearns to _obey_.  
  
And so finally, fingers laced together, he can coax him from his desk chair and peel away his rumpled uniform, kissing lean, rangy muscles as he works. He takes his time, savoring the way each gentle movement slows the caffeine quivering of Hubert’s pulse as he mouths at his neck, his wrists. Each soft sigh from Hubert’s lips is a victory; his eyelids softening, his shoulders drooping at last. Once Hubert is fully exposed to him, then he presents him with his collar, and kisses his temple as he clicks the buckle into its now-worn groove.  
  
“Come,” Ferdinand murmurs. “I think I would like to read tonight.”  
  
There is still an anxious hitch in Hubert’s movements, but he follows Ferdinand to the study, and Ferdinand gathers up his book and a glass of wine and moves to the armchair before the fire. Hubert watches, waiting. Shall he rest his feet on that jagged spine tonight? Settle Hubert in his lap and tease his rosebud nipples, make him whimper and leak while he reads? But no—Hubert needs a quieter evening now, after the stress and chaos of the last few weeks. He needs the emptiness, the quiet servitude that lets him drift.  
  
Ferdinand sits in the armchair and parts his thighs wide, then scoots to the edge. There is a soft inhale from his husband as Ferdinand unfastens his own breeches—just enough to expose his soft cock to the cool evening air.  
  
“On your knees, pet.”  
  
Hubert hastily obeys, sitting back on his heels as he leans forward, but stops just short of reaching for him. Those wicked green eyes glance up at Ferdinand, expectant; and for all that they can turn venomous at times, Ferdinand only sees the trust in them now.  
  
Throat thick, he brushes Hubert’s dark bangs with his fingers. “Take it in your mouth. But no sucking.” He can’t resist a smirk—“Not until I say so.”  
  
And what a beautiful sight it makes, those elegant, thin lips rounded on his shaft, those cold eyes half-closed in submissive bliss. It stirs him to partial hardness—how could it not, with his beautiful husband before him—but he wants that overworked mind empty, dreaming of nothing but the promise of when he might give the next command.  
  
He turns the page in his book, loses himself in the saga of a valiant knight fending off the tendrils of darkness as they reach for his path. Sips a rich red wine. Relishes the warmth of the fire. And above all else, welcomes the way his husband’s breath stirs the hairs at the base of his shaft as his hot, wet mouth is open and still around him, as his chest rises and falls, as he waits, and waits, safe in Ferdinand’s care. Later, he can pull his hair, fuck his mouth, smear him and wreck him utterly. Now, he just wants this stillness—the knowledge he’s brought his husband peace all the pleasure he needs.

**Author's Note:**

> [@Bohemienne6](http://twitter.com/Bohemienne6)


End file.
